


The Trip to the Trees

by rainydaysanddustybooks94



Series: A Trip to the Trees [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydaysanddustybooks94/pseuds/rainydaysanddustybooks94
Summary: It's after the Ending That Wasn't (In Other Words, A Beginning) that Aziraphale and Crowley decide to take a trip. What's hopefully to be a series of one-shots of the two on a vacation, from Crowley's perspective with lots of introspection on feelings and vulnerability.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Trip to the Trees [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764409
Kudos: 21





	The Trip to the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: This is borne from a bit of my own personal experiences, so there's likely no small amount of projection here. My bad. 
> 
> Note 2: It's been a dog's age since I've watched the show, but I thought that out of all of the characters out there, surely Crowley had the best understanding of what it's like to be in a relationship where everything feels... uncertain. 
> 
> Note 3: Disclaimer: These feelings are mine, but the characters are not. They belong to Neil Gaiman. That means I expressively do NOT give permission for re-posting on any of those awful apps that make you pay money to read the fics.

Aziraphale hung his coat just inside the door, closely followed by Crowley, who did the same. They both paused to take in their lodgings. It was a cottage, small, but clearly well-loved. Hardwood floors, rugs in some areas, but otherwise bare. Windows in every room, clean, and drawing in the sunlight. And a smell- the same scent when you stood in the woods after a rainfall, and smelled the damp mud, the wet wood, and the fresh air.

“Oh, this is very nice,” Aziraphale murmured, doing a small happy dance. Crowley allowed himself a quick flick of a smile, thankful that he’d chosen the right sort of space.

“Go on, in, Angel. We need to unpack, not hang about in the doorway all afternoon,” he grunted. Aziraphale shot him a look over his shoulder, before picking up the luggage and heading in. Crowley picked up his own, and said,

“The bedroom’s just down that hall, to the left, I think.” It made him nervous, just thinking about it. The bedroom. They’d be _sharing a bed_. Because they were...together. Or something. Crowley wasn’t really sure yet. Aziraphale was no longer ignoring things, but they hadn’t really sat down and….defined it. Or, well, nothing past Aziraphale confirming that they were on the same side now.

“Are you coming, my dear?” Aziraphale called. Crowley blinked, then sighed.

“Yeah, on my way. Here I come,” he called back. The cottage was nice. There was a cozy welcoming room, with a couch, a few kissing chairs, a few side tables, and a nice fireplace. The kitchen was small, but warm from the sun coming in. A door led to what seemed to be a bit of a field that led into a body of water. He finally stood in the doorway of the bedroom. This was possibly the smallest room- there was a small closet, an armoire, a table just large enough to hold a lamp, and a bed that almost touched all four walls. He cringed. They would be in each others’ space quite a bit for this trip. Hopefully it wouldn’t lead to tempers flaring or toes stepped upon.

“It’s awfully small,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably. Aziraphale tutted, already reaching for his bags.

“Nonsense, Crowley. It’s just the right size,” he said. He beamed gently at Crowley, who tried very hard not to blush. “Now, I’ll unpack our belongings. Why don’t you be a dear and get supper ready? I left the grocery bags in the kitchen on the countertops.” Crowley nodded, carefully pushing up his sunglasses.

“Hrm...yeah, okay, Angel. If you say so. Pasta, okay? Something light? Can open the Sauvignon Blanc,” he offered. Aziraphale smiled.

“Sounds lovely. Thank you.” Crowley failed valiantly at not blushing again. He scritched the side of his nose, ducking his head, and swooped out of there before Aziraphale could smile indulgently at him again. He found himself in the kitchen again, losing himself into the method of supper-making. It would take some time for Aziraphale to unpack their belongings- stars above, it would take him long enough just to unpack the bag of books he brought. It should be just long enough for him to make the pasta from scratch as well.

It hadn’t been too long past the Ending That Wasn’t when Aziraphale had found out he knew how to cook. It was just that it took quite a bit of effort and it always seemed...too intimate for their Arrangement. Even if he hadn’t….Even if he hadn’t been in love with the Angel, it was still too much for someone who supposedly only put up with them.

_“Friends? We’re not friends.”_

Cooking...feeding someone was an act of love. It showed the other person you cared about them, that you cared about their nourishment, and their hunger. With Aziraphale, he took it to the next level, with how deeply he cherished food. Sitting at the table with his angel, knowing that Aziraphale was speaking poetry over food Crowley had made, food Crowley had gifted him? Just the _thought_ made his head spin.

He hummed to himself, setting to chop the pine nuts while the pasta was boiling. In the other room, he could hear Aziraphale opening and shutting drawers, muttering to himself. The sun was dropping lower and lower in the sky, clouds encroaching on the horizon.

...It wasn’t that Aziraphale wouldn’t be grateful for the food. It wasn’t that he was worried about Aziraphale not liking the food (he was). It was more that….Crowley had loved him for so long. Loved him, and been in love with him. And Aziraphale….Well, who really knew how Aziraphale felt? He had fought their allyship for so long, then fought their friendship, and just when Crowley thought they had become friends, he had yanked it away with four words under that wretched bandstand. He understood, truly, but it lent a sort of...whiplash to Crowley’s trust.

After that Last Fight, where they had switched places, and then met up in the park again, Aziraphale had a quiet conversation about friendship, and how he was ready to move a little faster. But he never truly said anything concrete and with the depth of his own feelings, it was hard to offer up that sort of vulnerability when he had no idea if it was even welcome.

Did he understand? Yes. Did it make it easier when it came to nights on the couch, when he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome to curl up with his ear pressed on Aziraphale’s chest? No. Did it make it easier when they shared a bed ( _???_ ) and he woke up with the sunlight bathed across Aziraphale’s curls, with the sound of him snuffling gently into his pillow? No. There was...a constant feeling of being imbalanced, of standing at the edge of a long drop, and feeling that swooping sensation in his belly. Could go back, to steady ground….could go forward, off the cliff- without knowing if it was safe to do so. Could he take Aziraphale’s hand, and bestow a kiss on the fingertips, like he wanted? Could he tell Aziraphale he loved him, as he felt it? Could he bestow gentle compliments, until the angel blushed a pretty color, then gift one more about how stunning he looked, the blush against his pale hair? That uncertainty….it _ate_ at him.

“Just about done, dearest?” Crowley’s head jerked around as he crashed out of his thoughts. Aziraphale was leaning against the wall, a soft smile on his face, and eyes crinkled. Crowley fumbled the bowls in his hand.

“Wha- Hm. Ngh. Angel! How long’ve you been hovering?!” he squawked. Aziraphale laughed, stepping forward and taking the bowls from his hands. Crowley side-stepped him and grabbed the pan of pasta as a shield.

“Not long, Crowley. I just enjoyed watching you cook,” he said. “Now, why don’t you get the wine, and I’ll get the pasta, and we can settle in for what’s sure to be a delicious meal after our long journey?”


End file.
